


Spied

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Vignette, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:30:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irma chases down an abused book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spied

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

Some witches have lashes that magically curl on their own. Some wizards can speak to snakes. Some witches can cast spells they’ve never formally learned.

Irma knows where her books are.

She can smell them in the air, and right now she’s chasing a particularly popular one—a book that’s never dusty. One of the rare few in her library that’s in the Restricted Section for no magical purpose at all. It’s simply not appropriate for students, and why Dumbledore insists it be around, Irma has no idea.

Who keeps sneaking it out, she also has no idea. But she’s about to. She’s down a low corridor and creeping to the end, leaning into the slightly ajar door, covering the sliver of light. She peers through like a hawk, eyes piercing right through the darkness.

It’s too late for Rolanda to be this far away from her quarters, but perhaps she didn’t think she could make it to the library and back in time without Irma spotting her darting across the grounds. Staring out the windows is definitely something Irma’s resorted to. She can’t always _see_ her books so far down, but she knows when they’re there. The Restricted Section is mostly frequented at night, perhaps trying to catch her sleeping.

At first, Irma thinks Rolanda might be sleeping. She’s stretched out along a sofa on the far wall, the book enchanted to float above her, pages open. Then her back arches slightly, lips parting, and the movement knocks some of her robes aside. Irma claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp.

Rolanda’s robes aren’t done up, and she has one hand on her breast and the other down her skirt. When Irma leans closer, she can tell that Rolanda’s hands are moving busily, and when Rolanda’s fingers slide to the next breast, Irma gets an especially good view. Rolanda’s rosy nipples are pebbled and a little wet, and she opens her legs wide, delicate ankles sliding up the sofa. She doesn’t wear heels, never does, but those legs don’t need the help anyway. They’re long and lean, and the waist that lifts from the sofa is toned, the body lush and shapely. Of course it would be—Rolanda’s always flying, always working out. But somehow, under all those robes, Irma never realized it all came together quite like _that_...

Now she knows, and for the first time in her life, her thoughts aren’t made up of bound-together pages. Until Rolanda flicks her head, anyway, causing the page to flip. Rolanda grins indulgently as her yellow eyes skim the new entry, and her silvery hair halos her pretty head. 

Irma’s hands are shaking at her sides. This is ridiculous. They’re _professors_ , in a way. They shouldn’t be doing this. Not with _her precious books._ Irma wants to barge in and demand, ‘Madam Hooch, return that library book and clean yourself up this instant,’ but she also just wants to melt.

And in the end, she slips through the door.


End file.
